Monday, April 30, 2018

King Crimson

One of the top ten live shows* I've seen was King Crimson at the House of Blues in New Orleans in the 90's.  A bunch of the live recordings on the B'Boom album are from that show.  They were amazing the night before, technically amazing, a dazzling set.  But the next night they'd spent the night and all day in New Orleans.  I'm sure they were treated to the amazing food, friendliness, and a spat of beautiful weather, wandering around the French Quarter, looking at the Mississippi.  They were smiling and several times grinning at each other.  They changed up the set, dropped a couple of songs and added more.  The solos were longer, the improvisation more complex and seemingly joyful.  Enjoy.

*I refuse to rank my favorite shows.  They happened in different years and radically different venues, but are live experiences dear to my heart.

Thursday, December 8, 2016

New Music Coming Soon

The IFPR studios have been very quiet for a while.  Between technical difficulties with the studio and Alan Evil performing with the band Lotus Blake not much has been coming out.  Alan has recently started an ambient project which should be out before Xmas and there will be a new album of songs in the new year.  Happy holidays from the Institute!

Monday, March 23, 2015

Test

Is this thing on?

Yeah, so it's been a while.  How've you been?  Are you seeing anyone?  No.  Well...


Anyway, I'm going to fill in the gaps eventually, I hope.  But in the meantime how about some pictures and links?  Yay!


Sunday, October 20, 2013

A Poem



When I Walk

When I walk I pick up little objects
Rusted washers, old square nails, metal parts
that have been run over so many times
they have become a shape
bullets, an odd piece of wood,
pretty rocks
I used to bring my grandma a pretty rock from each
of my travels
Stripey granite from the Rockies
Stripey granite from the Alps
Fossils and quartz found near
Black flint and red sandstone found afar
Collected with the othering offerings
Brought by everyone and herself
And then, without her curating
The collection dwindled and dispersed
In the alleys I find the rusted things
Skins shaped by the traveled open ground
I had someone to bring them to
Offer them from my pocket every morning as I returned
Now they collect here
Unappreciated
But by me
Waiting to be dispersed.